Mechanical (21 page)

            "Never been to New York, me. Big places like this and me do not mix. But I heard there is KFC over here, Sir, just like near my base. And now I go and see the enemy closed it down. I'm telling you, man, you don't close KFC. You just don't close it. Why would you close KFC? What's it ever done to you?"

            Tom was a little at a loss.

            "Well, Sergeant, we know the enemy controls the minds of people. Maybe after being controlled their tastes change. We know the enemy changed things in the city."

            "Have you tried the popcorn chicken? Breaded on the outside? I just loved it. Couldn't wait for it. They way it crunched." Sergeant Jebadiah sighed. "So who would close it down? Why would any one close it down? What kind of people would close a KFC store? You're the intelligence officer, you tell me, Sir."

            Tom looked at the sergeant's Serpent that now seemed not to resemble a sophisticated and lethal war machine, but rather a flabbergasted boy whose toy has been taken away.

            "Sergeant, let me assure you that as soon as we kill the enemy, KFC will return to New York City. You have my guarantee." Tom paused, getting his thoughts in order. "You asked me once why I volunteered, Sergeant. This is it."

            "KFC, Sir?"

            "That's exactly the point, Sergeant. What makes the United States so special is freedom. People can open all sorts of things, even KFC, and no one can tell them not to. But look what happens when an enemy takes our cities. The enemy closes KFC down. Freedom is worth fighting for, Sergeant. Perhaps it's the only thing worth fighting for."

            "Really, Sir? It's worth fighting for KFC? You think so too?"

            Tom sighed. "Well, yes."

            "That's real good to know, Sir."

            Sergeant Jebadiah carefully put his rifle in the special holster all the Serpents had on their left leg and looked at Tom.

            "So how's it going, Sir? Finding the enemy?"

            Tom sighed heavily. "Not good, Sergeant. We hoped to be able to find the enemy's HQ or mind-controlling device or its personnel by monitoring the power consumption, but we've been to the Manhattan power control center and we saw nothing except a rise in power consumption in the Financial District, which could be explained by other means. We already suspected the enemy's HQ is in the Financial District anyway, but I can't narrow the enemy's location down."

            Tom resumed pacing the shed, his hands behind his back. He did not care how strange his Serpent looked, nor did Jebadiah say anything about it.

            Tom glanced at Ramirez and Emerson. Unsurprisingly, their forms lit up now and again in Tom's sensors. They were having another encrypted conversation, just the two of them. Tom did not know if he found the fact that this time they did not look at him comforting or ominous,. The longer their conversation went, the more restless Tom became. He whirled around and turned his back on them.

           
Concentrate on your job, Riley.

            "Why, electricity? Why did the general insist that electricity was the key to finding the enemy? Did they find something when they took back Detroit? But he didn't say anything about it. Why would he keep it secret? There's no proof the enemy is even on the Manhattan power grid!" Tom found himself ready to punch a hole in the shed's wall.

He backed away and started pacing again. "Captain Emerson is so sure of it, but there could be a million possibilities. The enemy may need only our power supply or our gas or fuel or anything. But still, the general insisted it was electricity. They must know more than they're telling. But why would they keep to themselves something so important? Something that the balance of the war might hang on?"

"National security, Sir. They always say national security. I've seen it in movies, Sir."

Tom stopped his pacing and looked at Jebadiah. The sergeant was now checking his Hellfire missile bin.

"They always keep secrets Sir, that's the way it is. Even I know it, and I'm from Indiana. Look Sir, you're the only one who can figure out what's going on. Just point me at the enemy, Sir, and I'll do the rest." The sergeant finished checking his weapon and then put it back on his back. "You can count on me, Sir. I know you're not like us regular grunts. You're a thinker and no mistake. You're the one who'll find the enemy. I just know it. My folks count on me and I count on you, so this means my folks count on you and they are not well now. I know you'll do your job, Sir. You're the only one who can."

Tom was glad that the sergeant wasn't looking at him during this long speech. He was also glad the Serpent could not convey facial expressions.

"Sergeant, you should know that in the Military Intelligence Office basic course I flunked almost all of the tactical training courses and subjects. I'm a real bad soldier, Sergeant. They wanted to throw me out more times than I could count. One time during squad training, I neglected to take my gas mask with me, though the briefing specifically stated nuclear, biological or chemical fighting conditions. The other trainees sent a letter to the base commander demanding I be removed or at least transferred to another training unit. They felt I was making the entire unit look bad." Somehow, it felt good to tell this to the Sergeant. All of them were elite soldiers, except for him. Tom was tired of trying to mask the fact that he was probably the worst soldier there.

"But Sir, they didn’t throw you out. They know a real thinker when they see one. Same as I."

Tom did not know what to say. Luckily, it seemed the sergeant was not looking for a response from him.

            Tom realized his sensors were picking up engines from outside. He also realized he could hear these engines for some time now. Tom approached Captain Emerson and peeped outside.

            At first glance, everything seemed normal: a normal city where people went about their daily business. Soon though, the city's real nature became obvious.

            Trucks and buses passed by on FDR Drive in perfect order. No one rushed, no one honked, no one speeded, no one gunned his engine and no one deviated from his or her course. As far as Tom's sensors could tell, no driver was using his radio, nor was anyone listening to an MP3 player. Every vehicle had only one person, the driver. There were no private cars on FDR Drive nor on Montgomery and Cherry Streets, the streets that were visible from the shed. The road belonged to trucks of various sizes, buses and the rare van, all going their way, perfectly ordered, like computer pieces controlled by centralized software.

            Tom could also see people in the streets, all carrying packages and crates, moving along with purpose and determination. No one was taking a leisure walk nor stopping to admire the beautiful parks and flowers the enemy had seen fit to install since it took the city, nor was anyone taking a pet for a walk. No one carried a briefcase. No woman carried a fashionable handbag or an expensive purse. Anyone who had taken to the streets apparently had a clear and defined purpose Tom could not really fathom.

Tom shivered. There were no kids on the streets, nor in the only park he was able to see. There was no laughter nor music. There wasn't even any talking. No one greeted another, not even with a raised hand or smile. The people moved in straight lines and no one had to swerve to avoid a collision with another pedestrian. People crossed streets without slowing down or looking at the cars, but no one was hit. Everything blended together with seamless accuracy: pedestrians, cars, trucks and every other kind of vehicle.

Tom backed away from the hole in the shed's wall.

Whatever was going on in the city, whatever the enemy was, Tom was now sure it wasn't human.

            The day wore on and Tom kept pacing, stopping occasionally to touch icons on his left-arm computer display. He came up with something that he very much hoped he could find an alternative explanation to. Because it scared him.

            But not nearly as much as the noises from outside scared him. It wasn't the groups of motorcycles that still roamed the streets, their engines howling as they passed by three or four times during the day. It wasn't the convoy of Bradley and Hummer military vehicles that paraded past. What scared Tom most of all, was the monotone sound of life outside the shed, inhuman life that was alien to anything Tom had ever known.

            Finally, Tom moved to Captain Emerson and laid out his plan. It wasn't a real plan nor was it very clever, but it was the only thing Tom could think of.

            Captain Emerson stood quietly and listened, waiting for Tom to finish. Tom had hoped the captain would see some folly in his plan.
We cannot risk it, he should have said. It's too dangerous. Too far-fetched. Too much of a long shot.

            The captain then paused quietly a few minutes. At first Tom thought he was thinking, but then he realized the truth: The captain was communicating over a long-distance radio link with hid superiors, probably the general.

            The general would not approve the plan. He would object. The Serpents with their pilots were a valuable resource in themselves. He wouldn't allow them to fall in the hands of the enemy or be destroyed.           

            "Your plan was approved. The observation post will be positioned where you suggested. We'll move out at twenty-two-hundred-hours."

Day Five, 70 Pine Street, New York City

Tom was getting angrier and angrier, probably for the first time since he had started piloting the Serpent five days ago.

It wasn’t the trek from their shed to the skyscraper in the heart of New York City that they were on now. It wasn't even the grueling climb to the top of the tower, clawed fingers digging into the tower’s white limestone brick façade of the tower while winds tried to tear Tom apart and throw him down hundreds of feet into the streets of enemy-controlled New York City.

            It was the surveillance itself. The four Serpents were now situated on top of the tower at 70 Pine Street, the building that Tom had selected for its almost unlimited view of most of the Financial District. Only a few other tall buildings, such as the One Chase Manhattan Plaza skyscraper, obstructed some of the view.

            Tom had no problem scouting out the position of the forces near then, their readiness states, their composition and their strength. He mapped out as best as he could their possible routes of attack and reinforcement among Manhattan's tall buildings.

On the other hand, those buildings were the target of Tom's observation. The Serpents took about an hour to make the short journey to the tower and it took them half an hour to climb the building's facade, slowly and stealthily. They had climbed the tower under the cover of night, crawling like the world's largest black bugs on the art deco tower that gradually tapered to a slender spire. According to the data on Tom's computer, the executives of a huge corporation used the top floor exclusively, but of course the enemy now owned and controlled everything in New York City.

            The Serpents had broken in by carefully cutting a window and slithering inside. Tom had waited outside while Ramirez entered the floor and went on his bloody mission, probably with a wide grin inside his pilot's compartment. It took less than two minutes for Ramirez to send the okay signal, and then Tom climbed up and entered the window, after pulling his claws out of the bricks in the building's façade. In fact, he had some trouble pulling his fingers out after he had jabbed them in so hard. Tom had not looked down all that time but still, he had a good imagination and the winds that blew at that height howled awfully loud.

            Captain Emerson had taken them to the service story that housed the elevator engines and service panels, water tanks and pumping equipment, and all the other things that a tower almost one thousand feet tall needed. Most importantly, the service floor was actually the topmost story in the building, was empty, and the rectangular-shaped tower meant the service story had windows in all directions.

            Now the other Serpents guarded the two entrances to the floor while Tom conducted his observations. The Serpents spent the night on the service story, Tom moving from window to window at fifteen minutes intervals, making observations with all his Serpent's sensors, zooming in on different locations and recording everything. And that's where the problem lay.

            Tom was an intelligence officer, and he had done his share of going over intelligence from the twelve enemy-controlled cities. He had poured over satellite images, drone pictures, scout intelligence and front-line reports, all to better understand the enemy and its modes of operation. Tom had taken part in teams that had tried judging when a raid was going to come out from the Dallas quarantine area where he was stationed, what its strength would be and what its objective were.

            Tom now had an unrivaled opportunity in this war. It was the first time anyone was able to observe one of the taken cities so closely. Tom could see a great deal into the Financial District from the tower and most of Lower Manhattan as well. His sensors focused on major buildings, starting with One Chase Manhattan Plaza and going to the New York Stock Exchange, the World Financial Center, the Chase Manhattan Bank tower, 55 Water Street, the United States Courthouse, 40 Wall Street, the Beekman Tower, the Woolworth building, One Liberty Plaza and many more, starting with the highest and going down.

Tom had carefully and methodically scanned every building for an infrared signature, radio transmission and any kind of radiated energy his sensors could detect.

"It's a real treat seeing you work, Sir, if I may say so," Sergeant Jebadiah had said when Tom had moved passed him.

"What?" Tom demanded.

"Nothing, Sir. You're now a man with a purpose, Sir."

"Sergeant, I'm trying to work here."

"Yes, Sir. That's what I'm saying."

"Whatever."

"Don't mind me, Sir. Even your Serpent walks straighter now. But go on right ahead, don't mind me, Sir."

Tom later realized what the sergeant had said. The fear and the anxiety brought about by being in the middle of a city controlled by the enemy and the consequences of what failing here would mean had not really gone away. They had only been pushed back some. Tom briefly tried to remember if it was like this before starting to pilot the Serpent, but he gave one shake of his head and went back to work. He had little time for idle speculation.

Tom had not only started with the biggest buildings, but with those that the enemy wouldn't really need, such as stock exchanges and courthouses. Corporate headquarters were also targeted among the first. But all Tom could detect were regular signatures coming from buildings that housed a large number of people. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

Occasionally, Tom glanced down to see motorcycle groups scouring the city. Their distinctive engine howls could not be heard at this height, but their compressed groups and the way the night fled before their headlights were unmistakable. They were trying to find out what was happening at the Manhattan power control center, Tom knew. The enemy suspected something. There were more and more groups on the streets.

Tom shook his head again. Back to business. Captain Emerson had said that satellites have already scanned the Financial District buildings and indeed most of Manhattan’s tallest skyscrapers, but Tom reasoned that a close-range scan might reveal something the satellites missed. Unfortunately, Tom's short-range scans revealed nothing that could raise his suspicions. All the buildings were heavily populated, even during the night, but other than that, Tom found nothing, no abnormal thermal signature that might indicate that a building was drawing in too much power from the grid.

Naturally, Tom had scanned the tower they were on during their climb. Blind luck might have led them straight to the enemy. Actually, Tom was too frightened to do anything but cling for his life, but he had had the presence of mind to turn his sensors on and record their findings. After that, in the safety of the service floor, Tom had briefly gone over the recordings, but he had found no sign that could indicate the tower housed the enemy.

Tom tried to stay away from Ramirez. Whenever he was close to Ramirez's Serpent he could see that great black monster standing idly by one of the doors leading into the service floor and slowly and methodically sharpening his claws. It was not the first time Ramirez had done that, but now in the darkness, Tom could see a shower of sparks fly each time Ramirez whet his razor sharp claws, one by one, with the same care a brain surgeon would give to extracting a tumor.

A few hours later, Tom stopped for a moment next to Jebadiah. The sergeant looked at Tom expectantly but said nothing.

"Can you move your antennas, Sergeant?"

"What's that, Sir?"

"Your antennas? Your aerials? The sharp things on your back? I tried moving them again and again, but they don't move at all. Only Ramirez seems able to move them at will."

"I really don't know, Sir. Never really thought about it."

Tom sighed deeply.

"You know, this is my job. It's really the first time I can do something useful in the mission. You soldiers brought me here and now everything is up to me."

"Yes, Sir. I know you'll do your sister proud. I know you'll do my folks proud."

"Yes, Sergeant." Tom talked slowly, very out of character.
I know this is important but I don't really care about my sister now. Or your folks, no offense.
But Tom didn't say any of that.

"Carry on, Sergeant," Tom said and started to move away towards the window with a great view of Lower East Side.

"My brother Bart was just like you, Sir."

"What?" Tom whirled around. He liked the sergeant but the man lately was getting on his nerves.

"He's three years older than me, God bless his soul. When he tried remembering something that got away, he would be all snappy and angry. I remember two whole days he tried figuring out how Harvey Keitel was named. Didn’t go to bed, either. He said it was on the tip of his tongue. For two days he just snapped and yelled at everyone. Two years ago, horse thieves shot him in the chest. Took him a week to die, too."

"I'm not snappy, Sergeant."

"No, Sir, but you've got snappy steps."

Tom stomped away. He just wanted to do his job and get out of here alive, but it didn't sound right, even when Tom told it to himself.

"Move!" Tom snapped at Ramirez who was standing too close to a northeasterly window overlooking Brooklyn Bridge. Tom was acutely aware how the Marine Corps lieutenant moved slowly away, all the while whetting his claws with unhurried, precise movements.

 With relief, Tom returned to his work. He suspected that he might find one building that was partly empty yet was still drawing a lot of power in an attempt to confuse onlookers, but every building Tom observed showed signs of being heavily populated. Human-sized thermal signatures were all over every one of the buildings, their faint glowing shapes visible from the many windows.

Tom had also hoped that he might detect some kind of energy emitting from one of the buildings, something he could detect with his sensors: some radio energy or ultraviolet or infrared or anything that might be a side effect of the process and devices that allowed the enemy to control the minds of the populace of New York City.

No such luck!

The sun had risen, absurdly fast, and the Serpents were still there, three Serpents guarding the entrances while Tom surveyed the outside, conducting observations and recording everything his sensors detected.

Tom tried, but he could not avoid seeing Ramirez and Captain Emerson in secret conversation again. Ramirez's small hand movements and Captain Emerson's stiff posture made it clear they were conducting some sort of discourse, not to mention the fact that they would both turned their heads towards him at the same time, their black faceplates more ominous than ever and the spiky aerials on their backs stiffening in unison.

The memory of Captain Emerson's hands on Tom's neck made Tom pause and shake his head.

Get your act together, Tom. You've got a job to do. Ignore these distractions. Think about what really matters.

Tom tried to concentrate on the second part of his plan: If he failed to detect any suspicious energy emissions that might indicate the enemy's location, the 70 Pine Street tower afforded a magnificent view of Lower Manhattan and of most of the traffic that flowed there. Tom could look down the streets and analyze the movements of the controlled people of New York City. Analyzing the traffic, the flow of goods and the movements of the soldiers the enemy controlled might reveal the enemy’s location.

Analyzing traffic was an old method to detect things you otherwise might miss. If you could not understand what the enemy was after, sometimes you just had to watch the cargo ships and trains to figure out its location and intentions. During the Cold War this was done several times, tracking trains and cargo ships to see where the Soviet Army was concentrating forces.

Tom couldn't help notice that the motorcycle groups didn't leave when sunlight bathed the unnaturally clear streets of Manhattan. Far from it, the groups seemed even more numerous, and Tom saw them starting to go into parks and gardens, their wide tires leaving ugly dirt marks on the meticulously groomed lawns that New York City had never had before.

At daytime, especially from his high observation point, Manhattan seemed stranger and stranger. There were no hotdog vendors or newspaper stands anywhere. It was a small detail but, coupled with the streets' unnatural cleanliness, the pedestrians' robot-like behavior and all the vehicles moving with machine-like precision, gave Tom the feeling that whatever was in New York City was not only inhuman but was truly alien to anything remotely human.

"No hotdogs, newsstands, pickle vendors; and no open stores. Sparking clean sidewalks," Tom murmured later while he stopped by Sergeant Jebadiah's position, training his sensors down and searching the street.

"What's that?" Tom turned and zoomed his sensors as far as they could go on something strange: several dishes near a door, some with water and others with something Tom could not really make out. It all became clear a moment later when a strolling cat ambled by, buried his nose in the dishes and moved on. A quick search showed that almost every block had at least one sidewalk pet-feeding station.

"No hotdogs for people, but they feed cats?" Tom murmured.

"What's that, Sir?"

"There are no hotdog stands in the streets, Sergeant."

"I noticed that earlier, Sir. It ain't natural, this. They closed down KFC and the hotdog stands. It ain't natural."